


Snake Seducer

by KittyHamilton



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Seduction, D-Dog - Freeform, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyHamilton/pseuds/KittyHamilton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ocelot has always loved Big Boss from a distance, never daring to make his feelings known. Touched by his plight, Kaz takes Ocelot under his wing to help him win the man of his dreams. This goes as well as one might expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love Master Miller

**Author's Note:**

> Important note! This fic was started before MGSV:TPP was released. I wrote most of it without knowledge about the actual events in the game and how the characters would be portrayed.

Ocelot leaned against the railing of the walkway, looking down on Motherbase. More specifically, he was watch Big Boss.

DD barked, running around and between his master’s legs. Snake held a ball aloft and issued commands which DD was too young and too excited to obey. Even from this distance, Ocelot could see the looseness of Snake’s posture and hear the amusement in his voice.

These moments were becoming rarer. If lust for vengeance had filled Miller with scorching fury, Snake had frozen over. He returned from each mission more bitter. Emptier. By the time this was over, the vibrant man Ocelot had met at Rassvet might have turn to stone.

Snake tossed the tennis ball. DD yipped in delight and followed its bouncing path across the platform. He barely managed to hold the ball in his tiny muzzle. This time, dropped it at Snake’s feet and sat at attention, just like Ocelot had taught him. Snake knelt down to reward him with cuddles.

“This is unexpected.”

Ocelot jumped. Miller was leaning on his cane and grinning like a shark. On the metal walkways Miller’s uneven gait was normally audible miles away. Had he really been that distracted?

“What are you on about, Miller?” He tolerated his colleague out of respect for the Boss, but just barely.

Miller tilted his head back. The setting sun reflected harshly off his aviators. It made him hard to read. “I just think your crush on the Boss is cute.”

Ocelot’s world slowed. He called upon every technique he’d learned through years of practiced lying, adding just the right notes of contempt and nonchalance to his response.“That’s disgusting,” he said, curling his lip.

“No need to be so intolerant,” Miller said, “Just letting you know he’s taken.”

“What?” There was no way he’d missed that. “Bullshit. By whom?”

There was that smile again. “...Isn’t it obvious?”

Oh.

Oh.

Miller. Who else? The men had worked closely in MSF for years, and they’d never fallen out over something like...secret clones. Even now they were bound together by the same tragedy, fueled by a lust for revenge against a common foe. He’d seen the way Snake talked to Miller, the way he talked about him. Ocelot was the third wheel. The uninvited, estranged colleague shoving himself where he could never belong.

“I see,” he choked out. Barely.

Miller regarded him inscrutably. Then, he let out an almost diabolical cackle. “Your face...I can’t...! You really believed that? I hope you don’t think I’m as gullible as you, ‘cause that was the most pathetic lying you’ve ever done.”

He was that easy to read? Blood rush to Ocelot’s head and he turned to hide his reddening cheeks.

“Have you told—hey, come back.”

Ocelot stormed away. Fleeing a conflict was humiliating, but hearing his feelings for Big Boss mocked was intolerable. He would have thrown anyone else off the walkway or beaten them to a pulp. Unfortunately, he knew from experience that attempting to do either of those things to Miller would upset Snake.

“Ocelot!” He could hear Miller limping after him, the crutch clanging rhythmically off the metal.

At least he could always outrun—or outwalk—Miller.

“Ocelot, wait!”

He didn’t.

“Have you told him how you feel?!”

The last sentence was almost shouted, echoing. Two soldiers on the platform below looked up curiously. A guard on the walkway immediately above paused.

He stopped. It took an eternity for Miller to catch up.

“What do you want?” Ocelot hissed.

“An answer.”

“To what?”

“My question. Have you told the Boss how you feel?”

Ocelot glowered. “Of course not.”

“Why?”

He didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“Afraid of rejection?”

“I’ve got a lunch to eat and a prisoner to torture. You have a point, or are you just fucking around?”

Miller lifted his single arm, still holding the cane. Ocelot backed up, expecting a blow, but Miller wrapped his arm around his shoulder.

“You probably don’t know this, but I’m…” His grin faltered for a moment. “I was quite a heartbreaker. Been with women from all over. I consider it a public service to share my expertise.”

“...Are you hitting on me?”

“I’m offering help.”

He should have shoved Miller away, put his blatherings out of his head. But, despite every brain cell telling him this was a bad idea...he was tempted.

“What kind of ‘help’?” Ocelot said carefully.

“You want the Boss to notice you, right? By the time we’re done he’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand.”

Ocelot’s fantasies about Snake had always been modest. In them Snake praises his skill, acknowledges his abilities, and relies on his expertise far more than in reality. They are goals Ocelot could, theoretically, achieve. Imagining more, even in flights of fancy, seemed foolhardy.

But Miller radiates confidence. Despite himself, Ocelot imagined. Snake kissing him. Sleeping with him.

Saying he loved him.

An ache of longing sharper stabbed through him. He wanted this. He wanted this so badly.

Ocelot shoved the feeling down, smothering it with logic and realism.

“You’re trying to screw me over,” he said.

“No thanks,” replied Miller, “I’m straight.”

Ocelot snorted.

“The Boss wants us to play nice,” Miller continued,“Besides, that stupid lovesick smile on your face made me feel...nostalgic.”

He should punch Miller in his smarmy face. Pretend this whole conversation never happened. The ache won’t let him.

“...Alright.”

“Great!” Miller slid his arm off Ocelot’s shoulder—removing his scarf. Ocelot snatched for it, but Miller pulled it just out of reach.

“Hey!” Ocelot’s neck tingled in the cool air. He felt oddly exposed.

“Consider this lesson one: always show more skin.” Miller shoved the scarf into his pocket, then adjusted his grip on the cane. “See you later, cowboy.”

And he was off. Ocelot stared dumbly at Miller’s retreating back

_What the hell did I get myself into?_


	2. Training Techniques

Kaz settled himself in the only chair in Ocelot’s room, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his head telling him Ocelot would have kept it if he’d had both legs. Despite how long Ocelot had resided here, the place felt foreign. On a tiny base in the middle of the ocean they hoarded what little space they could get. Not that Kaz had never been in Ocelot’s room—he bugged it himself a while back (Ocelot always discovered them).

It wasn’t decorated like a wild west saloon. The only sign of Ocelot’s unhealthy obsession was a neat pile of VHS tapes and novels off in a corner. He stood in the center of the room, spinning a revolver.

“Did he notice?” Kaz asked.

Ocelot absentmindedly touched his neck with his free hand. He’s been doing it all day. Couldn’t blame the guy. Kaz was the same about his aviators. “He asked about the scarf. I said I lost it.”

“No, no, no,” Kaz said, shaking his head. “Which is sexier—choosing to wear less clothing or forgetfulness?”

“It makes a difference?”

“You’re not the expert. Trust me. Take off something you always wear and you look naked without it.”

“So I’ve been walking around naked.” He tossed the revolver and caught it in his other hand, moving it into a spin in one fluid motion. His eyes never left Kaz's face. “I want it back.”

“All in good time, cowboy. Before we really get started, you need to answer some questions.”

Ocelot narrowed his eyes. He was suspicious, and he should be. Kaz was not helping just out of the goodness of his shriveled heart. Worming his way into the relationship between Ocelot and the Boss, getting more insight into the mind of a former Cipher agent. Comedic value.

“Are you a virgin?”

There was that comedic value. He sputtered incoherently before spitting out, “Of course not!”

“Hey!” He threw up his hand. “I’m not making any assumptions! Better to ask.”

“Grrr…”

“And your past relationships?”

Ocelot hesitated. Interesting.

“I wouldn’t call them relationships.”

“Friends with benefits?”

“Wouldn’t call them ‘friends’.”

It was easier to imagine Ocelot having sex than having friends. “No-strings-attached sex, then. Pay for it?”

Ocelot stopped spinning his gun, aiming it pointing up. Kaz smiled innocently. “Hey, just need a picture of what I’m working with here.”

And he’d gotten one. It was almost endearing: the middle-aged, gun-slinging, spy-torturer had never had a real relationship. Explained why he hadn’t pursued the Boss yet. It’s easier to be rejected by someone you care little for. Ocelot was mystery, but it didn’t take much to guess that he didn’t have many people he would call friends. Alienating Big Boss would be a huge blow.

Not that he had to worry. If all of Kaz’s concerns hadn’t been enough to budge the Boss’s trust in Ocelot, some awkward sexual advances wouldn’t push him over the edge.

“All right,” he say in his instructing voice, straightening up. “Show me your technique.”

“...”

“Your seduction technique.” Ocelot arched an eyebrow. “Hey, I need to see it to critique it.”

Ocelot gave the gun a final twirl and holstered it. He closed his eyes, tilted his head down. Frowned. When he looked up his smirk was cold but playful. He approached with a slow cowboy swagger.

This was...familiar. The hair on the back of Kaz’s neck stood up.

Ocelot lunged forward. Kaz instinctively raised his arm, but Ocelot grabbed his wrist and forced it up. He was pressed down against the chair with by Ocelot’s weight, one leg resting on either side of his own. The other hand twined its fingers through Kaz’s hair and tugged, forcing his head back see straight into cold, hungry eyes.

Ocelot’s chest rumbled. It felt like a repressed laugh. Or a purr.

He leans down. Kaz flinched at his breath against his ear. “How do you rate my technique, Kazuhira Miller?”

Kaz took a moment to realize Ocelot was not going to bite through his jugular. Ocelot released his hair and arm, leaning back to put some space between them.

And Kaz had remembered why this felt familiar

“J-jesus Christ! You’re like this during interrogations! Well, not the sitting in the lap part, but...”

Ocelot looked amused. “Not that you know of.”

“You seriously come on to people like this?”

“Yeah.”

“...That actually explains a lot.” God knows Kaz wouldn't be able to avoid thinking about this during their next interrogation. “But you might wanna approach the Boss in a less ‘I-am-about-to-electrocute-you’ way.”

He drew himself up. “Say I’m Big Boss. What do you do next?”

“You? As Big Boss?” He looked Kaz up and down, mentally cataloguing each example of his inferiority.

“Yeah. This is a kind of roleplaying game.” It couldn’t be too far off from training a spy like him must have experienced in the past, though most of Kaz’s own rolepaying experience was from...other things.

“I get it,” he said without much confidence.

“You’re in the Boss’s office, having a nice, normal conversation about a new recruit, when you ‘accidentally’ fall in his lap. He wraps one of his muscular, manly arms around you-the real one-so you don’t fall off.” Ocelot snorted as Kaz wrapped his arm around his waist and pulled him closer.

“He’s so close you could lean forward and kiss him, staring at you with one gorgeous blue eye. And the sexy eyepatch. What do you do?”

Ocelot rolled his eyes, but to Kaz’s mild surprise, cooperated. He stared off to the side, eyes glazing as he conjured up the scene in his imagination. Kaz knew Ocelot succeeded when he began radiating heat like a furnace, skin turning bright pink from cheeks to exposed chest.

He swallowed hard. “I...uh...”

The poor idiot was rigid. Kaz squeezed his waist gently to snap him out of the lovestruck paralysis.

Ocelot flailed and tumbled to the floor.

Kaz struggle to my feet, supporting himself on the back of the chair. “You okay?”

Ocelot was physically fine, but from the expression on his face his ego had sustained serious damage.

“Wow, Ocelot. Just. Wow.” Kaz laughed. Hard.

Ocelot lay there, stewing in his shame, covering his face with his hands. “Ass.”

“We’ll go slower. Save the lap sitting for a more advanced stage.”

Ocelot groaned.

“Don’t worry, Romeo. Get back on the horse.”

“I don’t want to hear about your horse dick, Miller.”

“Come on. Up!”

He finally righted himself, ignoring Kaz’s offered hand. Kaz probably couldn’t have supported him anyway. Sometimes he forgets.

“This is hopeless,” Ocelot said, touching the holster on his hip as if it provided some measure of comfort.

“You give up so easily?,” Kaz said, settling back into the chair. “Come on, I’ll show you how to flirt.”

“Hmph.”

As much as Kaz hated Ocelot, he’d become invested in his stupid crush. Ocelot’s was going to get laid whether he liked it or not. “If you flirt right, you can pass it off as a joke. No risk. No throwing yourself into laps.”

Ocelot huffed and shifted from foot to foot, glowering at his boots as if they were responsible for his appalling social skills instead of a symptom of them. He sighed wearily. “Fine. Teach me, oh wise sensei.”

 

“Ready?”

Ocelot didn’t respond. He was spinning his revolver with enough force that Kaz feared injury if his finger slipped.

They enter the mess hall together. It was as noisy and crowded as it ever got in here, full of soldiers unwinding over dinner. Some shot them surprised looks as they passed. Ocelot and Kaz avoided each other unless business required otherwise. They probably assumed something was wrong.

It took a moment to spot Big Boss, who had several soldiers clustered around him. Only his back and the top of his ponytail were visible as he leaned down behind a table. The soldiers got one look at Ocelot and fled.

Oh boy.

Snake straightened up, and when he noticed us his pleased expression morphed into one of panic. Ocelot raised an eyebrow, craning his neck to see what the Boss had been looking at.

“DD?!” he howled. The revolver hung limply from his fingers.

“What have I said to the men about feeding DD from the tables?” He pointed at the oblivious puppy, who was wagging his tail and gnawing on a hotdog. “Over and over again?”

Snake rubbed the back of his neck with his prosthetic hand. Kaz slid into the seat across from him. Snake looked at him out of the corner of his eye for help, but Kaz pretended not to notice. Snake had this coming.

Ocelot holstered his revolver. “You know what you’ll get if this doesn’t stop?” He swooped down, scooped DD up, and held him in his outstretched arms like damning evidence. DD swallowed remaining hotdog. “A fat puppy! With no manners!”

“It’s just baby fat,” Snake mumbled without much conviction.

“He won’t be a puppy forever. I’ve barely gotten the men to stop letting him beg for food, and if they see you doing it, they’ll think it’s okay.”

Snake wouldn't lift his gaze from the tray.

This was tragic. Time to step in. “Ocelot?”

Ocelot’s wrathful attention shifted to Kaz. He would have been more intimidated if Ocelot hadn’t been holding a puppy.

“Everyone still gives DD food off their plates. They just learned to stop doing it while you’re around.”

“Really.”

There was a long silence.

When he spoke again, it was to Snake. “Listen, remember when DD had separation anxiety, and would howl whenever we put him in the kennel at night? We stuck to it and he got over it. If the men would just be consistent…What is it?”

Snake was ready to run.

“Boss.” Ocelot pronounced the title like a parent would say the name of a naughty child.

“Well...He was crying and we and the men thought he sounded really sad so…”

“Boss.”

“He, ah, usually sleeps in my room at night. Or another soldiers'. We...alternate.”

The entirety of Diamond Dogs had been undermining Ocelot’s authority and spoiling DD with abandon for months now. Kaz was impressed they’d managed to keep it secret this long.

Ocelot looked to the heavens, as if he was praying for some divine being to grant him the strength not to murder everyone in the room. The men had long since retreated from their corner of the mess hall.

“Sorry, Ocelot,” Snake said, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips, “but DD is cuter than you are scary.”

As exciting as this conversation had been, it was time to get down to business. Kaz grabbed his cane and poked Ocelot’s ankle.

He jumped, and looks like he was about to yell at Kaz before comprehension dawned. He placed DD on a chair and gave him a final scratch behind the ears.

Ocelot shifted into a relaxed posture, gazing at the Boss from half lidded eyes. He rested an arm on the table and leaned forward. It was a good pose, showing off his ass and emphasizing his shoulders. Kaz had taught him well. “Maybe I need to try other methods of persuasion.”

Big Boss blinked.

“I don’t look cute enough to get my way?”

The Boss chuckled. “Nobody’s cuter than DD.”

Ouch. To Ocelot’s credit, he didn’t miss a beat. “But I do have...other talents.” He wet his lips, eyes roam over Snake’s body suggestively.

The Boss stared at Ocelot like he was speaking a different language.

Kaz couldn’t help himself. “Take a cue from DD. Get under the table and beg. He might give you some meat.”

The kick to Kaz’s remaining leg was agonizing, but Ocelot’s outraged expression was so, so worth it.

The Boss looked from Kaz to Ocelot. Kaz had miscalculated. This was going way over the Boss’s head head. Snake took one of the hotdogs on his tray and held it out to Ocelot. Ocelot cursed, threw his hands up in the air, and stormed out of the mess hall. The men parted like the Red Sea.

“Any idea what that was about?” Big Boss asked.

“No idea Boss. No idea.”


	3. Naked Snake

Ocelot stood at the sauna door. He’d never been to Motherbase’s sauna, or any sauna for that matter. Despite Miller’s claims to the contrary, it was an unnecessary luxury. Ocelot worked up enough of a sweat training new recruits in CQC and interrogating hard to crack prisoners. No need to sit around naked in a hot room with other men just to sweat.

Naturally, it was Miller’s fault he was here.

“You need to get the Boss alone. Somewhere more...intimate,” Kaz had said suggestively. “He spends time in the sauna early in the morning, when no one’s around.”

After recovering from the assault of erotic mental images, Ocelot had replied, “I’m not going to jump the Boss in a sauna.”

“Pervert. Saunas aren’t for sex. I’ve even been in the sauna with Snake.”

“...Really.”

“ Buuuut if you don’t want to-”

“I’ll do it”

 

Ocelot adjusted the towel around his waist. It felt like tissue paper, ready to blow away if he as much as sneezed.

Stop fiddling. Relax.

He flexed his fingers, took a deep breath, and opened the door. A wave of heat washed over him. Snake sat on one of the wooden benches.

Snake’s eyepatch was gone, revealing a brutal scar—Ocelot’s scar—and an empty eye socket. He wasn’t wearing his prosthetic, and what remained of his left arm rested on his lap, his right hand clutching the stump. Scars crisscrossed his gleaming skin. Snakes eyes were closed, brow furrowed as if in pain.

He broke from his reverie and looked at Ocelot, startled.

This was not for Ocelot to see. He started to back out of the sauna. “Didn’t realize you were in here.” Not his best lie, but Snake wouldn’t call him on it. “I’ll give you some privacy—”

“Wait.” Snake half rose from the wooden bench, and the towel slipped a little further down his hips. “I don’t mind company. ” He patted the bench next to him.

Ocelot managed to walk over without slipping, losing his towel, or both. After agonizing briefly over how closely he should sit, he settled on leaving a little over a foot of space between them.

They sat in silence. One grew accustomed silences like these with the Boss, but it still felt awkward.

Ocelot shouldn’t have come here. A man like the Boss needed his space, a place to be at peace, alone with his thoughts. He’d just barged in. Fucking Miller. Did he do this on purpose?

“I thought you don’t use the sauna,” Snake said, watching him carefully. His hair was out of it’s ponytail, the damp locks sticking to his neck and back.

“I don’t. Figured I’d see what the fuss is about.” Ocelot fidgeted on the bench, trying to keep his eyes on his Boss’s face. It wasn’t easy.

“And?”

“It’s hot.”

“Hmm.” Snake leaned back, giving a nicer view of his well muscled chest “Kaz convinced me we should have one on...the old Mother Base.”

Snake stopped short, jaw clenching. What was he thinking about? His old home? Men and metal blown to pieces and decaying at the bottom of the ocean?

They didn’t talk for a while. Snake ladled water over the stones and they hissed fiercely, erupting steam.

Ocelot had hoped the sauna might prove relaxing. He’d had a hard day followed by a restless night. However, the quickening of his pulse had more to do with the temperature than his nervousness. The punishing heat made Ocelot’s jitters seem minor by comparison. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead.

Snake was looking at his chest.

“You’ve got fewer scars than I do,” he said, eye tracing a long, jagged scar along Ocelot’s ribs.

Ocelot was not sure if that was meant to be an insult or a compliment, or if he was over-thinking a simple statement of fact. “Unlike you, I prefer to kill my enemies before they get close.”

Snake smirked. “Or stab them in the back?”

“Heh. You know me too well.”

“There’s a lot more since the last time I saw you.”

Ocelot had long since memorized Snake’s scars. Too much time spent over his comatose body, cataloging his injuries as if it would speed his recovery. However, Ocelot couldn’t think of the last time Snake would have had an opportunity to see his bare torso. Ten, eleven years ago at the latest?

“...You were gone a long time.”

A flicker of—something—passed over Snake’s features. Ocelot forced himself to remain still as Snake reached toward over his chest, fingers brushing his collarbone. “Are those…?”

“Cigarette burns? Yes.” Snake retracted his hand, much to Ocelot’s relief. “Funny story behind those.”

Snake eyed the line of round white marks dubiously. Truth be told, it wasn’t a “funny” story, but Ocelot was desperate for any excuse to fill the silence and mask his nervousness.

He weaved an epic tale, filled with action and espionage. It was mostly true. Some details were exaggerated for dramatic effect; others, like Cipher’s role, were dropped entirely. By the time Ocelot described his explosive escape from the Mujahideen, Snake was chuckling in amused disbelief and the awkwardness had dissipated.

“How about you?” Ocelot said, pointing to an old scar on Snake’s bicep.

“Ahh…” Snake said, studying the mark. “It’s not much of a story.”

“Still want to hear it.”

They settled into a comfortable back and forth, telling tales from the mundane to the ludicrous. Ocelot was a natural dramatist; it came from watching all those cowboy movies. Snake was more restrained, but gained enthusiasms he spoke, especially if it was about guns. He was smiling, too. It was perfect.

Except for the heat. Ocelot was all sweated out, his skin pink and dry, head aching.

“What about this one?” Snake said, scrutinizing Ocelot’s abdomen.

“Which one?”

Snake’s finger followed a thin, vertical scar starting near Ocelot’s navel, traveling down until the towel blocked his progress.

Ocelot would have jumped out of his skin if the oppressive heat hadn’t dulled his reflexes. He took that as his cue to leave. “I’ll to tell you some other time,” he said, moving to stand.

His legs collapsed underneath him.

 

This was...cozy. Ocelot’s body throbbed with heat, but at least he was comfortable, resting on soft, warm, nice smelling...skin? A hand teased through his hair.

Then he was assaulted with a spray of tepid water. It felt icy against Ocelot’s overheated skin. He grumbled and try to curl up against his cozy skin-pillow, but it was uncooperative, angling him towards the spray and pouring handfuls of water across his hair.

Ugh, what had he even been doing?

He remembered...being in...the sauna?

...with Snake…

If he wasn’t so lethargic, there would have been a repeat of the sitting-on-Kaz’s-lap situation. Ocelot manage a weak sort of flail, attempting to pull himself away from Snake and failing miserably.

Ocelot shook his head, clearing the fog from his mind, and took it all in. They were on the floor of one of the shower stalls. Snake was kneeling, supporting Ocelot against his chest with his handless arm.

Ocelot’s towel was gone.

That was enough to fill his drained body with a burst of energy. He broke from Snake’s grip, falling to his knees directly under the spray of the shower.

“Where the hell is my towel?” Ocelot snapped. There were a hundred other things he should have said first, all of them apologies.

He could hear his Boss chuckle despite the rush of water. “It fell off when you fainted.”

Fainted. He’d fucking fainted. In the sauna. In front of Snake.

Snake stood with a sigh, and Ocelot heard him walk off.

He was still shaky and off-balance, but managed to stand, keeping an arm braced against the stall. Some soldier he was. The Boss had endured the same heat for longer but still had energy to drag Ocelot’s worthless carcass over to the shower one-handed. Even if comparing himself to Big Boss was an exercise in futility, Ocelot should have known his limits.

But...their conversation had been going so well. He’d wanted to stay.

Pathetic.

“Here,” said Snake. There was a fuzzy poke at Ocelot’s back.

Ocelot snatched the towel and wrapped it around his waist quickly. It was only when he was properly covered that Ocelot had the courage to turn and face Snake.

Snake was gorgeous, all wet gleaming muscles. Also very amused. “All right?” he asked, offering his arm for support. The world rocked when Ocelot step forward, and he took the arm reluctantly. “You should go to the infirmary.”

“I’m not going to the fucking infirmary.”

Snake’s expression darkened. “You need to know your limits. If I wasn’t there...”

Ocelot winced. He was being lectured like a naughty child, and deserved it.

He don’t protest when Snake escorted him back to his room. He was too embarrassed to speak. On the way there Snake fetched a huge glass of water and stared at Ocelot until he sipped it obediently.

By the time they were standing at the door to Ocelot’s room, he wanted to crawl under the bed and forget any of this had happened.

“Take the morning off.”

Ocelot nod mutely, gazing at the half-empty water glass and hating his life.

The moment stretched on. Ocelot knew he should say something. Thank him. Apologize. Explain. Anything.

Instead, he muttered goodbye and fled into his room.


	4. Boxes Full of Treats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Warning for violence in this part.

“I can’t believe you blew that opportunity,” whined Miller, pushing open the door to the storage room. Precarious piles of cardboard boxes loomed in unordered stacks, casting shadows in the meager light. This storage room was far from the most important on the base, containing odds, ends, and empty cardboard boxes, but Ocelot made a mental note to send someone to tidy up.

“Opportunity?!” Ocelot kicked a chunk of styrofoam packing material out of his path. “I made an ass out of myself!””

Miller shook his head. “You were literally naked in his arms.”

“While suffering from heat stroke.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Miller said, limping towards one of the piles. He seemed to be looking for a particular package, which would be a lot easier if he wasn’t wearing sunglasses in the poor lighting. “You should have invited him into your room.”

Ocelot drew a revolver and spinned it idly. “How would that have even worked?”

“You play it up.” Miller pitched his voice lower, parodying Ocelot. “‘Oh, Snake, I’m feeling so dizzy, let me lean on your broad shoulders. It’s so hot, let me take off my shirt and lounge on the bed seductively’.’”

“He’d send me to the infirmary,” Ocelot grumbled, ears warming. While he’d been supervising target practice Snake had checked up on him. It was mortifying, being told by the Boss to stay hydrated in front of men he had authority over.

Miller paused. “... Good point.”

Ocelot sighed. His revolver slowed to a stop and hung from his finger.

“Hey, cheer up.” Miller led him further into the package maze, pushing stray boxes aside with his cane“You still made progress. And you learned a valuable lesson about sauna safety.”

“Progress?” Ocelot growled, “What ‘progress’?”

“You said you were having a great conversation.”

“Before I fainted.”

“Yeah.”

“...”

Miller turned from the box he’d been examining to look back, resting heavily on his cane. “Listen, Ocelot. Snake isn’t the kind of man to look down on you over something like that.”

Ocelot didn’t know what to say to that.

“Now, the next objective for Operation Snake Seducer.” Miller’s teeth flashed ominously. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. And, lucky you, the most romantic day of the year is coming up. You’re going to make Big Boss Valentine’s Day chocolate.”

The only sound in the room was the subtle creak of cardboard.

“You have got to be shitting me.”

“Nope!” Miller rapped a nearby box with his cane. “I snuck an order for ingredients and supplies into the budget. Take a look.”

Filled with morbid fascination, Ocelot ripped off a line of tape and opening the flaps. Miller was serious. Cushioned between the packing peanuts were what looked like candy molds, some kind of cooking thermometer, and ingredients. He lifted out a plastic jar. It was filled with almonds.

“You don’t fuck around with your chocolate,” Ocelot said, shoving the almonds back between a cookbook and a bag of roasted coconut flakes. His stomach clenched. If Miller had told him to go punch Big Boss in the face, that would have been fine. But...making him candy? For Valentine’s Day? This was miles out of his comfort zone.

“Miller…”

“I’ll help you. Trust me, he’ll love it.”

If Miller was messing with him, he had sure put a lot of thought into it. However, even if Miller meant well, there was no guarantee he knew what he was doing. This could end up like the sauna incident or worse.

As much as Ocelot was loathe to admit it, that was his own fault, not Miller’s.

Somewhere behind him, cardboard slid against the floor.

He stood up and faced Miller. “All right. But we’ve got something to take care of first.

“Oh?” Miller cocked his head to the side.

He drew his revolver so fast Miller barely had time to stagger backward before a deafening bang rang out. The bullet ricocheted. Someone screamed.

Ocelot charged by Miller, swooped around a box pile, and stopped in front of a soldier laying on his side, holding his bleeding thigh. The box he’d been hiding under sported a bullet thole and blood droplets. He wore the Diamond Dogs uniform, complete with a balaclava covering his face. Next to him was a small recording device Ocelot recognized from his own experiences spying. The man reached toward the gun in his holster.

Ocelot cocked the hammer. “Sure you want to try that?”

The soldier’s hand froze, then settled back on his wound.

Curses and thumps followed behind Ocelot until Miller stumbled behind him, gasping, and barely supporting himself on his cane. “Warn me next time!” he managed, pulling out the radio.

 

If a part of Motherbase was closer to hell than the others, it was the hangar. Pipes and cables coiled up the walls like snakes. A red light cast a bloody glow on every surface, and a white one burned bright enough to hurt the eye without providing much illumination. Ocelot loved it.

Dmitri Travkin—certainly a fake name—twisted in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position in his bindings. He wouldn’t, of course, not with how Ocelot had tied him. The wound in his leg had been patched up just enough to stop the bleeding. They had no incentive to keep him alive much longer.

Travkin had been a willing recruit, a Soviet POW rescued from Mujahideen months ago. He was young for a spy, or was older than he looked. The ease with which he’d been caught was either a sign of the enemy’s inexperience or their intention for him to be discovered.

“I,” Ocelot purred, “have had a stressful week. This is will cheer me up. So thank you, ‘Dmitri’.” His spurs clicked like the claws of a great cat as he circled the prisoner.

“Who do you work for?” Kaz’s cold voice echoed from the shadows. He sat at a table, cane propped against the side.

Travkin said nothing.

Ocelot moved behind him. Travkin’s squirming had already rubbed his wrists red from the rope, fingers flexing in anxiety.

Ocelot grabbed an index finger and yanked it back. There was a satisfying crack. Travkin howled.

“We have all day,” Kaz said. “Make it easier on yourself. Nothing your employer will do will come close to what we will.” Anger boiled underneath the surface of the words.

This was a side of Miller Ocelot hadn’t been seeing much of since he’d promised to help him get Snake’s attention. The spy could have relation to Cipher. Diamond Dogs and Big Boss drew attention from many quarters. But to Miller, every enemy was a reflection of one who had destroyed his world.

Travkin slumped forward, mumbling at the bloodstained floor.

“What was that?” Ocelot wrapped his fingers around a pinky, pulling back slowly until it popped. Travkin’s body jerked in pain.

“You...don’t scare me...fucking faggot,” Travkin snarled with the ferocity of cornered dog.

Ocelot frowned, moving from behind Travkin to look him in the face. Travkin stared up at him with wide eyes. “Heard you talking about your Boss. You’re disgusting!”

Ocelot hand shot out. Travkin flinched, expected a blow, but Ocelot gently cupped his chin in his palm, running a gloved thumb over his bottom lip.

“‘Disgusting’? You’re still young. Have you even tried it?”

Travkin’s whole body shivered exquisitely, cringing away from Ocelot’s grip the and avoiding his gaze. A remarkable number men would endure brutal pain, but crumble under the right humiliations.

“Fuck you.”

“How about the other way around?”

Travkin spat. It splattered under Ocelot’s eye, dribbling a trail of saliva down his cheek. Ocelot instinctively reached for his scarf, found it missing, and settled for wiping his shirt sleeve across his face. He chuckled.

“You don’t have to die here.” Miller almost sounded sincere. He wasn’t, of course, but the carrot was as necessary as the stick. “Cooperate, and we’ll be merciful.”

Travkin said nothing.

Ocelot slid a knife out of his boot. He felt its weight in his hands, let Travkin watch as he twirled it between his fingers. He brought the blade to Travkin’s chest. The poor dear sunk back into the chair, not daring to breath. Ocelot ripped through the shirt’s material in two sharp tugs of the blade.

He ran a finger across the bare chest, enjoying Travkin’s horrified squirming. Silly boy. As if he’d be interested in a physique like that with Big Boss around. No, what Ocelot was admiring was the smoothness of unmarked skin. A perfect canvas to play with.

Ocelot went for the electrical rods. His favorite.

“These are very dangerous, you know. I’m a professional, and even I can’t stop people from just dying sometimes.” Ocelot let the ends of the rods linger near Travkin’s chest. watching the hairs on his skin stand at attention from the current.

Silence. Travkin seemed far away.

Time to bring him to Earth. Ocelot shoved the rods onto his chest. Travkin screamed and spasmed, twitching in pain. When Ocelot pulled the rods away, there were two matching burn marks.

“Ready to talk?” Ocelot asked, already knowing the answer.

Travkin shook his head, but slowly, weakly. Less defiance already.

And so a cycle began. Ocelot would shock shock Travkin and ask him if he’d had enough. Travkin would refuse. Ocelot would shock him again. A broken body didn’t mean a broken spirit, but Ocelot could tell he was being worn down. However, there was no telling when that point would be, and Travkin could only

He finished a final shock, then put the rods aside. Travkin panted, burns decorating the flesh of his abdomen. Tears of pain had welled up and spilled over his cheeks.

Ocelot drew the knife again. Dmitri barely had the strength to cringe away as the point reached his belly. When Ocelot brought the tip of the blade towards his the waistband of his pants, he went as still as a possum faking death.

“W-what are you…?”

“Don’t be like that. It looks like you’re not going to cooperate, so I figured I’d better have my fun now before I torture you to death.” Ocelot reached up to stroke Travkin’s neck. His pulse was racing. “Relax. You might even like it.”

He heard the creek of a chair behind him, and glanced back to see Miller shifting, head slightly turned away from the display.

Ocelot’s cut through the waistband, guiding slicing down a pant leg to reveal the skin beneath.

“W-wait,” Travkin whispered.

Ocelot kept cutting.

“Wait!”

This time he stopped, arranging his features into an expression of mild surprise.

“I’ll talk…” Travkin rasped through his dry throat.

Ocelot stood, twirling the knife. “Then talk.”

“I...I don’t know that much... I was kept in the dark. But I can still give you information.”

Miller took over the interrogation from there. If Travkin was telling the truth, he really was a Soviet soldier turned spy. He couldn’t give names of those directly involved, but the codes, dates, locations, and methods were enough to bring to mind a few suspects. The information he’d been required to report back was typical: Motherbase’s layout, missions the Boss was involved in, their numbers and resources.

Ocelot felt a fondness, tinged with nostalgia, as he watched the spy roll his shoulders back, trying to relieve the aches from being restrained. Torture was intimate. Far more intimate than sex. It was ripping off the layers of a person, one by one, until you reached their raw and honest core. How could he not get attached?

So when Travkin finished talking, Ocelot was quick and quiet. There was no hopeless, last minute panic. Just a revolver bullet in the back of the skull, splattering brain and bone to the floor.

Miller jumped. “Fuck! I said to warn me!”

“Yeah, well.” Ocelot shrugged. “I forgot.”

“We need to tell the Boss about this right away,” Miller snapped, as if Ocelot had already disagreed with him.

Ocelot holstered his revolver and started to untie the ropes binding the corpse’s wrists to the chair. “Let him focus on his mission. Tell him when he gets back.”

“A spy infiltrated Motherbase!”

“An incompetent spy.”

“We don’t know that.” Miller smacked his cane against the floor. “Maybe we were supposed to find him.”

“Look Miller,” Ocelot said, kneeling to fiddle with the ropes on the legs, “Overestimating your enemy can be as dangerous as underestimating them. Most men aren’t crafty as Cipher, and most spies aren’t as crafty as me. I’ve got experience. Trust me.”

“I don’t.”

Miller’s statement wasn’t really a surprise. Ocelot couldn’t explain the pang of something that twisted through his stomach.

Travkin’s blood glistened on the floor, covering older bloodstains and smelling of copper. Ocelot pushed aside a chunk of skull with his boot. “You shouldn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er...Next chapter will be lighter.


End file.
